Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride

by Bella Rose

  Trisha made one last check to make certain she had her passport and her personal items. Then she reached for the door handle and eased it open. The hallway was quiet. Anatoly had knocked on the door between their bedrooms once when he’d first gone to bed. She hadn’t answered, and he hadn’t knocked again.

  The floor creaked when she stepped into the hallway. Stopping, she held her breath and waited until the count of ten to move again. Silence blanketed the cabin. Apparently there were no guards. That was a bit unusual considering all of the recent threats. Unless someone had decided that having Trisha “escape” wouldn’t be such a bad thing for Anatoly.

  As if her very thoughts had called him up, Yakov appeared like a ghost at the end of the hallway. Trisha felt her belly knot. She didn’t even entertain the notion that he was going to discourage her leaving. She understood.

  Sucking in a deep breath and resolving to be a grown up, Trisha quietly made her way down the hallway toward Yakov. He gazed down at her, his face impassive.

  “I’m going to assume you’re not here to stop me,” she said in the softest whisper.

  He shook his head. Gesturing to her bag, he raised an eyebrow.

  “I can’t carry it all myself and get out of here quietly,” she explained.

  In three strides, he made it to her bedroom. There was a brief pause, and then Yakov emerged carrying her two bags, one in each hand. It appeared to take no effort at all. She sighed. Maybe there had been a part of her that wanted Anatoly to feel the need to bring her the luggage. Then they could have seen each other one last time, and maybe he would have changed his mind about this ridiculous family merger.

  “I’m ready,” she told Yakov.

  Still carrying her bags, he made his way out the front door and down to the car. He put her cases in the trunk and then opened the passenger door for her. It was all very civilized.

  Really, it just made her want to cry.

  Instead, she climbed into the car, folded her hands primly in her lap, and took one last look at the cabin where so much and so little had happened.

  ANATOLY OPENED HIS eyes. He felt groggy. Yakov had insisted he take pain medication before going to sleep. Anatoly hated the stuff. It coated his mouth in cotton and made his brain sluggish and slow. What he really needed was Trisha. He wanted to feel her curl up beside him in the bed.

  Sitting up, he felt the entire room begin to spin. He closed his eyes and waited for it to stop. His stomach lurched. This wasn’t just pain medication. He felt as though he had been drugged. Groping on the nightstand, he found a bottle of water. He popped the cap off and downed half the contents in one long pull.

  Finally, he put his feet flat on the floor and managed to stand up. The water had revived him just a little. Still, he had trouble navigating to his bedroom door. He fell against the chest of drawers, grabbing the sides to steady himself. Then he managed to find the doorknob. When he swung open the door, he got a face full of cool air from the hallway. It felt good. He shook his head gingerly, trying to clear his muddy thoughts.

  Trisha. It was the only thing he could think.

  Stumbling into the hallway, he put one hand on the wall. It was only six feet or so to Trisha’s door. He blinked, staring in confusion. The door was wide open. Why would it be open? He lurched forward and curled his fingers around the doorframe in order to remain standing. He stared dumbly into Trisha’s bedroom. She was there. She had to be. Trisha wasn’t the type to run away. Look how many times she’d had the opportunity, and yet she’d chosen to stay with him.

  “Trisha?” he called out, his words slurred. “Where are you?”

  He crossed the short distance between the door and the bed with painfully slow, deliberate steps. The bedding was rumpled. Was she hiding beneath a pile of covers? Finally, he reached the side of the bed. He immediately sat down, relieved that he had made it this far.

  He could smell her. The scent of her feminine perfume lingered in the room and on the sheets. Stretching out his hand, he sought the shape of her leg or an arm beneath the sheet. Instead, he encountered an empty bed.

  “Trisha?” This was louder. Surely his voice would have roused her by now?

  Blinking the sleep from his eyes and plowing through the lethargy from the medication, Anatoly had to face the reality that Trisha was gone.

  TRISHA REGRETTED HER decision the moment the plane took off. Considering her itinerary and the number of times she had to change planes in order to make it all the way back to Cleveland, she was going to have an awful lot of time to be sorry about the choice she’d made.

  “Hello, miss, please fasten your seatbelt.” The flight attendant gently touched her shoulder. Trisha wondered if the woman could tell that Trisha was in the middle of an existential crisis.

  “I’m sorry,” a female voice from her right snagged her attention. “You look positively ill. Should we call somebody?”

  “Oh no,” Trisha said quickly. “I’m fine. Really. I just—well, I suppose I had a fight with my boyfriend, and now I’ve just decided to go home instead of trying to work things out.”

  The other passenger sharing the bank of two seats was an elderly woman with kind eyes. Trisha wondered why a grandmotherly type would be flying by herself, but the woman seemed to anticipate the question.

  “I’m visiting my daughter and my grandson in Moscow.” The woman looked excited. She pulled out a photograph. “See? Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Very beautiful,” Trisha agreed.

  “You speak fine Russian, but you’ve got an accent.” The woman patted Trisha’s knee. “American?”

  “Yes.”

  “Poor girl. Did you fall in love with a nice Russian boy while on holiday?”

  Well, that was the G-rated version for sure. “Yes, something like that. But we are very different people. He has very different notions of what a relationship should look like.”

  “Has more than one girl, does he?”

  “How did you guess that?” Trisha wondered, aghast.

  The woman sighed. “They always do, my dear.”

  “But he doesn’t even like the other woman.”

  “Then perhaps it’s time to clean house.” The older woman made a clucking sound. “Do you want this man or not? If you don’t, then keep walking away. If you do, perhaps it’s time to make a stand.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Trisha mused. “I suppose I’m kind of going in the wrong direction for that, though.”

  “No. You’ll know when it’s time. Until then, there’s no harm in a little distance.” Now the old lady winked.

  Trisha couldn’t help but think that this was a pretty cool old granny.

  It was time to go home, straighten things out with her parents, and then decide what she really wanted.

  ANATOLY WAS LYING on the couch waiting for Yakov when his lieutenant walked through the door. “Where have you been?”

  “To the airport.”

  It was hard to say if Anatoly had expected Yakov to lie or not, but the blatant disrespect for his wishes was the harder thing to swallow. “Why would you do that? My orders were not unclear. I wanted Trisha to stay here at all costs. I went to great trouble to make that happen. Why would you screw this up for me?”

  “I didn’t screw this up for you, as you say.” Yakov took measured steps as he entered the living room. He sat on the sofa opposite of Anatoly and reached over to turn on a dim lamp. “In fact, I believe I was fixing things.”

  “By taking Trisha away from me and sending her home?” Anatoly was completely at a loss as to how this could be good.

  “Anatoly,” Yakov began slowly. “You and I both know that you cannot marry Trisha.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “There is no perhaps about it.” Yakov threw the keys on the low coffee table. “You must have an agreement in place with the Sokolovs soon. Very soon, in fact. We are on the brink of some very lucrative business deals. A war with the Sokolovs would go badly for us. We don’t have that kind of manpow
er. All the assassins and drug runners and other thugs would tie up the streets and make our people afraid to leave their homes.”

  “So I’m being intimidated into marriage now?” Anatoly shouted. “I won’t do it, Yakov!”

  Yakov shrugged. “You have no choice. You may not like it, but you need Motya Sokolov.”

  “Then perhaps I should just approach him and make a deal. He’s for sale like anyone else on the planet.” Anatoly’s brain was still sluggish. He didn’t have the mental acuity to see the details, but he knew there had to be a possible solution from that angle.

  Yakov scratched his chin. “There might be a way to maneuver the old man into making a gentleman’s agreement.”

  “We need to find out what he really wants.” Anatoly waved his hand in annoyance. “Other than his daughter and I to take a trip down the aisle.”

  “Territory,” Yakov said slowly. “These men want territory.”

  “But he has all of Moscow.”

  “No. The Ukrainians have that strip down by the shipping yards.”

  “Motya wants that little strip of land?” Anatoly curled his lip in distaste. “Why?”

  “You forget that not everything is valued in terms of real estate property.”

  “So then the drug trade is good there?”

  Yakov was already nodding.

  “So go buy it from the Ukrainians.” The solution seemed simple in Anatoly’s cloudy mind. “We need to own what Motya wants. Simple.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I’m going to beat him over the head with it until he accepts my proposal.” Anatoly rubbed his hands down his face. He needed sleep. Lots of it.

  “So you’re marrying Motya and not Bianka?” Yakov teased.

  Anatoly groaned. “No. I’m marrying Trisha.”

  “You really think this is a good idea.” Something in Yakov’s tone suggested he wasn’t so certain.

  Anatoly had trusted this man with so many things over the years. It was difficult to think that they seemed to be of such different minds about this one thing. “What is your problem with Trisha? I thought you liked her?”

  “I do like her. But she is not like us. She is legal and law abiding.”

  “As she once pointed out herself, most business operates barely over the line of ethical. I am not a traditional mafia man.”

  “No. But you are still a mafia man. Will she be okay with that?” Yakov held up his hands, indicating surrender. “That is all I want you to consider.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Active decisions, Trisha,” she whispered to herself. “It’s all about being firm and decisive and holding your ground.”

  “Miss?” The cab driver looked at her in the rearview mirror and raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”

  “You know how sometimes there are those people in your life who are totally pushy and they just make you feel like you’ve got no choice but to give in to them?”

  “Sure do.” The driver was nodding emphatically.

  They swung around the final corner and wound up on Trisha’s street. She watched the houses go by and wondered why it felt so weird to be driving down the street where she had lived her whole life.

  “Well,” Trisha told the driver. “Take those bossy people, multiply them by about a million, and then give them a badge and a power trip. That’s what I’m about to come face-to-face with.”

  “Lady, I’m sure glad I’m not you,” the driver drawled.

  They pulled up to the curb in front of the narrow two story that had been Trisha’s whole world until just eight and a half weeks ago. “Yeah, thanks.”

  She gave the driver a big tip and then got out of the car. He exited the vehicle and helped her get her bags out of the trunk. By then her mother was already sprinting down the front walk. That was pretty impressive all on its own. Mama was a lady before anything else, and ladies did not run around like chickens with their heads cut off.

  “Trisha!” her mother squealed. “Oh my word, you are a sight for sore eyes!”

  “Mama!” Trisha flung out her arms.

  Her mother squeezed her tight, and the two of them embraced for a long time. The cab had already driven off by the time her mother loosened her hold. Then she stood back and gave Trisha a very thorough perusal.

  “You’ve changed, young lady.” Mama thinned her lips into a tight line. “You had us plenty worried.”

  “I told you I would come home when I was ready. I needed to do some thinking.”

  “What were you thinking staying there with that man?” Her mother slung an arm around Trisha’s shoulders and began hauling her up the front walk.

  Both women were dragging a suitcase behind them, and Trisha had her overnight bag looped over her shoulder. Now Mama was already going into full lecture mode. Great. That whole resolution about “holding her ground” hadn’t lasted long.

  “If you ever do anything like that again, young lady, I’m going to pound your backside like I did when you were little!” Her mother gave her a little squeeze and helped her up the front steps. “Did I tell you that I saw Kenny Pearson the other day?”

  “No, Mama. And I don’t care. I don’t like Kenny Pearson.”

  “I told him that you were still on that study program in Russia,” her mother said eagerly. “But that you’d be home real soon so the two of you could enjoy a nice supper together.”

  “Mama!” Trisha wriggled out from under her mother’s arm and dug in her feet. She was not going one step farther until they cleared up one matter at least. “Mama, I don’t like Kenny Pearson. I never did. He’s a pompous jerk who thinks way too much of himself and his job at the used car lot. I’m not going out on a date with him. Ever. Again. Got it?”

  “My goodness!” Her mother pressed her palm to her chest. “There’s no need to be rude, young lady.”

  “And why do you call me that?” Trisha demanded. “I’m twenty-seven-years old. Do you realize how old I am to be living with my parents? It’s pathetic!”

  “Your father warned me that letting you go to Russia for that study thing was a bad idea. He said you’d come home with your head filled up with silly ideas.” Trisha’s mother shook her head. “I told him our dear girl was too smart for that, but I see he was right.”

  “No. I’m just trying to be normal. Mama, it isn’t normal for someone my age to live at home.” Trisha sighed. “I didn’t really want to talk about this before I managed to get inside the house, but apparently you’re going to make me get it all out there.”

  Her father shoved open the screen door with a bang. “Get what out there?”

  “Daddy,” Trisha said, feeling completely mixed about seeing him again. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You wouldn’t know it from the way you behaved. Cheating in some casino. Then you took up with some criminal, got yourself kidnapped, and probably wound up pregnant.”

  Trisha rolled her eyes. “Daddy, that’s your standard answer to everything. I didn’t do something stupid nor probably got pregnant. Is the thought of me entering the world of motherhood truly the worst possible fate you can imagine? Because if so, you need to get out more and get a freaking imagination!”

  There was utter and complete silence after her outburst. In fact, Trisha started to fidget and had to force herself to remain still. It was like sharks in the water. You never let them smell blood. In this case, she could never let Daddy know that he’d gotten to her.

  “What in the hell is the matter with you?” her father grunted. “And get over here and give your daddy a hug! You’ve been gone nearly three months!”

  “Not that long, Daddy.”

  Still, it felt both strange and good to huddle in her father’s embrace. He smelled the same, like the peppermints he chewed for his indigestion, and maybe a hint of spicy sandalwood cologne. She wished she didn’t have to butt heads with him. It was inevitable, though. He and her mother simply didn’t want her to grow up. Ever. And that wasn’t going to work for Trisha anymor
e.

  “WHY ARE WE sitting in this car in a dark alley at midnight?” Anatoly demanded.

  Yakov looked almost relaxed behind the driver’s wheel. He took a sip of bitter coffee from a little Styrofoam cup he’d picked up at an all night coffeehouse. “You need to calm down. You’re like a little dog sitting over there in the seat, jumping up and down because you have to take a piss.”

  “You do remember that you work for me. Correct?” Anatoly grumbled. “It would behoove you not to refer to me in such terms.”

  “How do they say it in America?” Yakov asked with amusement. “I call it as I see it.”

  “Well, I’m going to make a call and end it.” Anatoly shifted in his seat, feeling a dark mood settle in. “And if this stupid Ukrainian bastard doesn’t show up in three minutes, we’re leaving.”

  “I thought you needed that territory.”

  Anatoly heaved a sigh. “So I do.”

  “Then perhaps you exercise some patience.” Yakov slapped his shoulder. “You are dealing with criminals, after all.”

  Just then a set of headlights pulled up in front of them. Anatoly started to get out of the car, but Yakov flung out an arm to stop him. “No. Wait.”

  “Why? I want this done.”

  “Because caution will keep you alive,” Yakov murmured.

  He was watching the car very carefully.

  This was why Anatoly preferred the business arena to the seedy world of underground transactions. He was a man of action. Meaning that he did not enjoy waiting or find it useful in any way when getting the job done quickly and efficiently was the most productive way to proceed.

  The front passenger and driver’s doors of the vehicle opened. Two lanky men with spiky blond hair and matching white sweaters got out of the car.

  Anatoly snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are they trying to look like B movie actor rejects?”

  “Hush,” Yakov snapped. “Keep your mouth shut. Considering your foul mood, they’ll likely shoot us if you mouth off.”